


bamboo bones

by waveridden



Category: Blaseball (Video Game)
Genre: Gen, Houston Spies (Blaseball Team), Season/Series 06
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-18
Updated: 2021-02-18
Packaged: 2021-03-13 13:20:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,084
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29526990
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/waveridden/pseuds/waveridden
Summary: Donia is bad at blaseball. Donia hates blaseball.It seems like there should be a clear starting point: they’re bad at it because they hate it, or they hate it because they’re bad at it. But she can’t remember which one came first anymore.(Or: Donia Bailey, running in circles.)
Relationships: Donia Bailey & Houston Spies
Comments: 6
Kudos: 19





	bamboo bones

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Kalcifer](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kalcifer/gifts).



> Happy Donia Bailey day, a day for Donia Bailey! This is for Kalcifer, my comrade-in-arms for caring about terrible pitchers. CWs for descriptions of paranoia and (nongraphic) assassination attempts.

On the first day of the sixth season, Donia opens her locker. A bomb promptly explodes in her face.

It’s more of an annoyance than a surprise. Like a lot of the team — or, well, like a lot of the team used to — she considers herself a spy first and an athlete second. So this has happened before. It’s even happened to Donia before.

Everyone else is relaxed about the whole thing. It’s only a little explosion, more smoke than fire. Solis gives her some eye drops, and that’s the end of it.

The unusual part happens on the third day, when they discover poison in their water bottle. And the sixth, when they set off a landmine in the pitcher’s mound and grind the game to a halt for a couple minutes. And then the eighth when they have an allergic reaction to something in the dugout, and the ninth when their locker explodes _again,_ and—

“I think someone’s trying to kill Bailey,” Alexandria says blandly, on day eleven, after someone blinds Donia with a mirror three separate times while they’re pitching.

A lot of the team laughs, like Alexandria told a joke. It becomes the refrain of the season. Donia appreciates it in some ways; every time she loses a game, nobody can blame her, because someone’s trying to kill her.

It stops being funny around the thirteenth attempt, when Teddy steals a couple fries off Donia’s plate at dinner and immediately starts coughing, loud and wet. They’re fine, in the end, but everyone quits making jokes about it right quick.

“Do you know who?” Fitz asks, and Donia says she doesn’t. It’s true, in the most technical sense.

  
  


#

  
  


Donia is bad at blaseball. Donia hates blaseball.

It seems like there should be a clear starting point: they’re bad at it because they hate it, or they hate it because they’re bad at it. They’re a miserable pitcher in all senses of the word, both bad at playing and terribly unhappy about it. But she can’t remember which one came first anymore.

So the thoughts chase themselves in circles in her head. Donia’s bad at blaseball because she hates it because she’s bad at it. Donia wants to run away because she’s unhappy because she can’t play blaseball because she wants to run away. Donia wants to be happy because she wants to trust her teammates because she wants to like blaseball because she wants to be happy.

It’s not that she doesn't practice, either. Even outside of team practices, even outside of spy missions, Donia practices. That’s supposed to make them better, but it doesn’t. There are no blessings for her. There’s nothing coming to make her good at blaseball, or to make her love it.

So here she is, stuck in the middle in every possible way. In some ways, she’s glad about someone trying to kill her. It breaks up all the cycles.

  
  


#

  
  


They lose Melon to the feedback.

It’s not the first feedback the Spies have ever had, or even the first one Donia has seen. But it’s the first time they’re on the mound when it happens.

Donia doesn’t consider herself paranoid — not any more than a spy should be. Paranoia is trained into her, a finely honed tool to keep her safe. Donia also does not consider herself safe. The assassination attempts have ruined any lingering semblance of safety that she once had. Being a spy is dangerous. Being a blaseball player is triply so.

And besides, Donia doesn’t have a lot of people to trust. She wants to trust her team, because she wants to like blaseball, because she wants to be happy. She wants to trust her team to keep her safe, or at least safer.

But they blink, and suddenly it’s not Septemberish on the mound, staring them down. They blink and it’s Collins Melon in front of them, batting against them.

Freezing up is a shameful thing, as far as they’re concerned. A spy should be able to adapt, and a pitcher should be able to pitch. Donia does neither, staring at Collins, trying to make sense of it. This is an ally; now this is an enemy.

An ump starts drifting close. Donia forces herself to pitch.

  
  


#

  
  


Distrust is a strong word for what Donia feels for the Spies. There aren’t a lot of words, actually, for how they feel about their teammates. They’re all smart, and capable, and good spies. They’re also all so… kind. It seems like it should be a weakness, but after a half dozen years, Donia’s coming to terms with the idea that maybe it’s a strength.

Case in point: Comfort Septemberish is a Spy now. This should be a terrible fit. Septemberish constantly speaks at a volume that would imply their conversation partner is a flootball field away, not next to them on a couch. Septemberish’s hair is spiked and colorful. Septemberish should be an outcast on this team, a stick of dynamite in a set of knives.

Instead, the Spies throw them a welcome party. It’s a small affair, but Alexandria spends the whole evening cooking tamales, which makes it a special occasion. The entire building smells like garlic and chilis, and the team interrogates Septemberish.

Or more accurately, the team interrogates Septemberish except for Donia, who stands aside and watches. They tell themself it’s safer, but then they have to wonder why exactly they care about safety. They don’t trust their teammates. It’s easier not trusting people. Doing missions with them is different from… this, from Alex Rosales asking if Donia prefers beef or chicken or vegetable, from half a dozen people trying to fold her into conversations.

Septemberish finds them, eventually. “You are not participating,” they say.

“No,” Donia agrees. “Someone’s trying to kill me.”

Septemberish laughs heartily. “Nobody has ever killed me yet,” they say. “If you’re by me, they won’t be able to kill you either.”

“I don’t think that’s how it works,” Donia says slowly, but Septemberish grabs their arm. They sigh. “Are you going to let go?”

“No,” Septemberish answers proudly, and pulls Donia into the thick of the party.

They would like to be sullen about it, both for safety reasons and because Septemberish is too loud. But it’s hard to maintain a bad mood while eating one of Alex’s tamales, or once everyone starts swapping stories about missions.

So, okay, it’s not the end of the world. That doesn’t make it a good idea. Donia is quite certain that it’s a bad idea.

  
  


#

  
  


Because here’s the other thing:

Donia works for the Spies. Donia also works for somebody else.

They should remember which one came first. They should know who, exactly, they are here to betray. But it’s blurry, now, after nearly six years of games; it’s blurry with regret and hope and guilt and paranoia and noise, so much noise.

It’s hardly even a secret at this point. The team doesn’t ask about it, which is a relief. Donia’s been living in cycles for so long that they don’t know what’s an end and what’s a beginning. They’re getting better at parsing the cycles. That doesn’t mean they’re better at remembering.

  
  


#

  
  


“Donia,” Son says one day. “Did you ever want to be a batter?”

If it were anyone else, Donia would lie in a heartbeat, but they’ve always been bad at lying to Son. “Yes,” they admit. “I think I’d be better at it.”

“Have you ever tried to switch?”

“I don’t think you can control that. The reverb is random.”

“There’s a blessing for it,” Son says, which fully gets Donia’s attention. He shifts under their gaze, looking nervous.

Donia softens their face into a smile, trying to look encouraging. They’ve never been as good with Son as the rest of the team, but they try their best. Son’s a good kid, and whatever this is will undoubtedly be well-intentioned. “A blessing?” they prompt.

Son nods. “We were talking about it,” he says. Donia doesn’t have time to wonder who exactly “we” is. “It would make our worst pitcher a batter, and swap you with the batter who’s best at pitching.”

Donia’s mouth goes dry. They don’t look at the stats very often, but they know theirs are laughably bad. They’re the worst pitcher, beyond a shadow of a doubt. They were supposed to be a batter, but something got messed up at the last minute and they’re stuck pitching.

Donia is a miserable pitcher, in every sense of the word, but this—

“We can talk to management about it,” Son says brightly, and the new fragile pieces of Donia’s hope come crashing down. The way they see it, it’s even odds whether it’s Spies management or their other employer that put a tripwire in front of their locker yesterday. Management isn’t going to want them to bat. Management doesn’t want them there at all.

But Son looks so proud, so happy about delivering them this news. So Donia forces themself to smile again. “Son,” they say quietly, “thank you. That would be great.”

Son beams. “I knew you’d like it,” he says proudly, and for a second Donia is overjoyed, so proud of Son, so proud of themself.

It’s a pipe dream. But they’ve been dreaming of a way out of blaseball all this time. There’s no harm in adding one more to the wishlist.

  
  


#

  
  


Donia is on the mound pitching when she blinks and it’s Solis at bat. Poor guy looks just as confused as her, staring at Donia. She thinks she can see him about to say her name.

“Play ball,” she says, as loudly as she can. He barely brings his bat up in time to hit a ground out. Donia’s entire heart aches with the loss.

The inning ends before long, and Solis jogs up to her. Donia’s expecting him to say goodbye, but to her surprise his arms close around her shoulders. He doesn’t let go, even when she jerks back in surprise. “Don’t be a stranger,” he says. “We get it, it’s okay.”

The rest of the team starts converging on the pitcher’s mound, and Solis lets her go so she doesn’t get tangled in the ensuing group hug. But she watches, and she thinks.

It doesn’t occur to her until after the game that this is a hell of a coincidence, her pitching twice when somebody got feedbacked. The assassination attempts are still going strong, and nobody’s ever been able to control the weather before, but if someone had a vendetta, and were very determined—

Well. She’s going to have to keep an eye out.

  
  


#

  
  


Two days after Solis leaves, the Houston Shells have their weekly roller derby practice.

It’s not her preferred sport, of course. Donia doesn’t have a preferred sport, beyond “not blaseball,” but they’ve always thought that they would be good at running, or swimming. Something about endurance.

Roller derby is not about endurance. But it is about hitting people, which they have to admit is satisfying.

So two days after Solis leaves, they go to practice and hit people. Donia isn’t vicious, but she’s sure as hell not nice either. They get a lot of compliments from their teammates, and give others a lot of bruises. It’s cathartic, being around people who don’t know them from blaseball.

At least, it’s cathartic until after practice, Alex says, “Let me drive you home.”

Despite what the rest of the team thinks, Donia was the first one who started doing roller derby. Alex and Teddy joined on their own, a couple months afterwards. Donia gets the impression that they’d been surprised about her being on the team, but she hadn’t bothered explaining herself. They hadn’t bothered asking either.

Teddy talks to her at practice, sometimes, and Donia puts up with it. They’re nice enough. Alex has never spoken to her at practice before, though, so this first conversation puts Donia on edge.

“You don’t have to,” she says, as though it’s not a futile effort. It’s an hour’s walk home, and normally they enjoy the time to think. But something about the way Alex is looking at them makes them think they’re not getting their way tonight.

“I insist,” Alex says, predictably, and Donia agrees.

It’s a quiet ride at first. Alex drives slowly, safely, circling every block a couple times before making turns. Donia appreciates the extra caution. She also appreciates the silence, even though she knows it won’t last.

Sure enough, a handful of minutes into the car rides, Alex says, “Who do you think it is?”

“Who do I think what is?”

“The person trying to kill you.”

Donia turns to the door immediately, just as Alex pointedly clicks the locks shut. They swallow back a curse. “If it’s you—”

“It’s not us,” Alex says, voice sharper than Donia’s ever heard. “Come on.”

Donia bites their tongue, hard. “I don’t know.”

“Why not?”

They don’t answer at first. Alex waits for a minute or so, and then they say gently, “We don’t care if you used to work for someone else.”

“Really,” Donia says flatly.

Alex glances at them; Donia can sense the movement, even though they’re not looking. “Is that such a surprise?”

“Spies shouldn’t be lenient with double agents.”

“I’m being lenient with my teammate.” Alex pauses. “Lenient isn’t even the right word. You’re one of us, Bailey.”

“Why,” Donia says, before they can think better of it. And then, belatedly, “How long have you known?”

“Long enough.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“You’ve had a dozen chances to get any of us killed, or taken out of commission, or ruin any one of our missions. And you haven’t done it. That means something. So I’m asking again—” Alex’s eyes cut over, and this time Donia can’t help but look back at them. “Who is it?”

“I really don’t know,” Donia admits. “It could be management. It could be the other agency. One of them wants revenge for me playing both sides.”

“What are you doing about it?”

“Keeping my distance.”

Alex snorts and takes a smooth wrong turn. “That’s not keeping us safer. If anything we don’t know what to expect.”

“It’s not—”

“If we get the blessing, I’m going to be a pitcher,” Alex says, and that’s enough to get Donia to turn to face them fully. This time Alex keeps their eyes steadily on the road. “I think it would be fun to give it a shot. And I think you’d be more fun to be around if you weren’t so goddamn sad about pitching.”

Donia laughs, startled, and Alex’s lips twitch up into a smile. “You’d want to pitch?”

“Sure.” Their eyes flicker over, just for a millisecond, and that’s enough for Donia to turn away. “Or I want you to bat.”

They go quiet for a minute, thinking their options over. Banking on a blessing is a risky idea, but if the team can convince management, or the fans… if they’re willing to try once, and maybe try again if it doesn’t work…

“What can I do?” Donia says at last.

“Keep us in the loop,” Alex says. After a moment: “Please.”

They nod, slowly. When they glance back Alex’s eyes are still on the road, but now they’re smiling.

  
  


#

Donia’s not sure what Alex tells the rest of the team. They’re discreet, whatever it is; Donia wouldn’t notice a change if she weren’t paying attention. Unfortunately, she’s always paying attention. It’s a side effect of the job.

Someone poisons Donia’s water bottle for the third time this season. This time Games catches it and replaces the water. They wouldn’t even notice if they didn’t catch him in the act. He brushes off their stunned thanks and hands them the water bottle, as though it’s nothing.

Two days later someone tries to follow Donia home. Then Morrow starts walking with them, calm and steady. They keep up a patter of conversation, and afterwards when Donia invites them in for coffee, it isn’t just for safety purposes.

At one point Donia pitches a win against the Firefighters, one run shy of a shutout. They celebrate as a team, everyone getting drinks together afterwards. Donia doesn’t like drinking, doesn’t like being drunk, but they don’t watch their glass all night. They don’t sit in a corner. They talk and laugh and swap stories with the rest of the team.

It’s not that she’s more comfortable, exactly. Comfort leads to laziness leads to not noticing the next bomb in her locker. But it’s good, knowing that people are watching out for her. It’s safer.

Donia loses her last game of the season. The fans are mad at her, but the team cheers relentlessly. She thinks they’re just happy that she survived the season — and that’s a thought, isn’t it? She _survived._ And there’s that blessing, and the chance of reverb, and Solis has been calling her with updates about the Millennials that she’s pretty sure are just clumsy attempts at gossip.

Things are still going, still moving, wheels constantly spinning. But it doesn’t feel like a cycle anymore. It feels like she’s going somewhere.

  
  


#

  
  


In retrospect, she wasn’t wrong. She did go somewhere.

  
  


#

  
  


The shadows are unforgiving. Houston feels cold and barren in the dark, relentless in its sterility. Donia hates it. Choosing to be alone is different from… from this, the forced distance, the ugliness of it all.

They panic, at first. Panic and freeze and shout out loud and all the other terrible things. But that’s a small portion of their time. They’ve faced harsher missions, beaten back worse odds. This is just one more mission, one more thing to come back from.

This, here, is the oldest cycle a spy can face. Adversity, and perhaps panic. Then calm. Then strategy. Then success. Then homecoming.

The Spies have relays and drop points set up throughout the city. Donia knows every code forwards and backwards, and they use every one of them. They leave serious messages. They also leave messages cursing out management, and messages about inside jokes, and messages about how much they hate blaseball. They call Solis, and Alex, and even the Shells.

There are all these things that Donia should not rely on — blessings, fate, cycles, team management. They have all betrayed her, one by one, systematically disassembling her walls, leading her into the shadows.

They have all betrayed her. Except for her team. So Donia waits. And she begins, slow and fragile, to hope.

**Author's Note:**

> [and you have your bamboo bones](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8oz0gGtPRgU) / nervous energy, blind ambition, skin of your teeth / push back, push back, push back
> 
> I'm @waveridden on tumblr and twitter, come say hi!


End file.
